


fluorescent adolescent

by lonelydoctors



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (at the end) - Freeform, Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Childhood Friends, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Friendship/Love, Gender Identity, Genderqueer Character, Graduation, Graduation Angst, Growing Up, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Inappropriate Humor, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Some Humor, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, and a whole clusterfuck of personal issues emotions and feelings, basically a story about them growing up and graduating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 01:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20667251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelydoctors/pseuds/lonelydoctors
Summary: He never really understood what adults meant when they talk about being swept along by time but right now, he asks himself how he could have ever wished for the weekend on a Monday when he will never get those seconds back.•“I’m not dying, Issei,” he whispers back but the words cut his throat open and the name feels bitter on his tongue because Takahiro associates so much more with using it than Matsukawa ever will hearing it.





	fluorescent adolescent

**Author's Note:**

> basically i'm graduating uni soon and projecting all kinds of shit on my favourite characters again

“So, three weeks then.”

A deafening silence, a crushing sort of dread, like thick, dark fog follows Oikawa’s voice. Takahiro glances up from the food he’s been picking at for the most part of lunch break, but when he sees Oikawa’s smile that’s just a little bit too casual and Iwaizumi’s furrowed brows, he quickly looks back down. Matsukawa stirs next to him, shifting his weight onto his other leg so that their folded knees are touching and Takahiro wonders whether Matsukawa knows.

“Three weeks left until we’re finally freed from the shackles of high school.”

He throws a quick glance at Matsukawa out of the corner of his eye, the warm summer breeze tickling his face, and when he’s met with a warm smile and a reassuring bump on his thigh, Takahiro feels he can fight against the fog.

They laugh–well, they try, at least, yet Oikawa's so stiff, it’s like he finished giving a speech at yet another ceremony rather than talking to his friends, while Iwaizumi settles on a painful attempt of a grin that can only be described as a grimace. Eventually, they fall silent and turn their attention back towards their lunch.

Takahiro thinks, hard, racks his brain for something to say, anything, really, he’d take pointless banter over this anytime, because why should they spend their last time together like this? All tension and uncertainty, feelings unacknowledged and words left unspoken, when their friendship has always been one of the easiest things for all of them?

“Can’t believe we’ll all go different ways then…”

Iwaizumi shoots Oikawa a glare as if to say _shut up, can’t you see you’re making it worse, Shittykawa,_ but when Takahiro looks at Oikawa, he can see the panic in his eyes and the tension in his body and he knows exactly how he feels–sometimes, as much as you know you shouldn’t, you just can’t help yourself saying the words anyway.

So Takahiro grins and says, “Yeah. Can’t believe I get to go to school without constantly getting sidetracked by all of you and your ridiculous habits.”

He shakes his head for emphasis and Matsukawa laughs next to him, the low sound vibrating quietly in his chest, and without even looking at his best friend, Takahiro knows his brows are probably pulled together in that particular way they always are whenever he laughs, that his lips must be pulled into a lazy grin, hints of dimples beginning to show.

Takahiro doesn’t give himself the chance to dwell on the tingling in his chest and the warmth in his stomach, pushing those feelings to the back of his mind, right with the words he shouldn’t say but wants to anyway, because right now, the tightrope under their feet is more than enough to handle and Takahiro struggles to keep his balance when the fog weighs heavier with every day.

“It’s not the end of the world, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi grumbles and punches him lightly on the shoulder. “Makki’ll only go to Tokyo and we’ll even go the same university.”

Oikawa stops, closes his mouth, and turns to look at Iwaizumi, a look so full of relief and fondness that Takahiro has to avert his eyes, the rawness hitting him right in the chest and making him sway. He swallows and keeps his eyes fixed on his bento, not daring to look at Matsukawa (and how wrong does that feel?) because how could he not notice the things Takahiro tries so hard to bury away when Oikawa is looking at Iwaizumi like that?

“Mmm,” Oikawa hums and tears his gaze away eventually, “But Mattsun just had to go and choose a university at the other end of Japan!”

Matsukawa tenses at his words, his knee jerking up at the movement, and Takahiro hates himself for missing the gentle pressure. Oikawa follows his words with a nervous chuckle, to hide his wavering voice, probably, Takahiro thinks. Soothing hand gestures and empty words and Takahiro sees the regret in his eyes, wishing he never said anything in the first place.

He glances up through his lashes, looks at his three best friends, and feels something crack around them, the air being sucked from them as their dreaded day grows closer and he knows it's only a matter of time until one becomes two and two becomes ten, until they shatter and cut into each other.

Takahiro blinks, dismissing the crack, and laughs as he nudges Matsukawa in the side. “We’ll visit. You're not getting rid of us this easily.”

Matsukawa laughs, too, then and to Takahiro’s ears it feels just as sharp and jagged as his own, echoing off the walls of their friendship and sounding low and hollowinto the abyss beneath their feet.

“At least I’ll only have to see you in my free time then.”

Iwaizumi makes a face at that and throws Oikawa a pointed look before saying, “Maybe I should rethink my choice of university…”

“Mean, Iwa-chan!”

As Iwaizumi and Oikawa busy themselves with their banter, Takahiro throws Matsukawa an amused look and leans in close to whisper, just loud enough for them to hear, “Bet you 100 Iwa’s not gonna last until summer next year.”

“Make it winter break and 200 and I’m in.”

When Oikawa flings his jacket at the both of them, huffing in exasperation and pushing forward his lower lip in a way that reminds Takahiro of how ridiculously beautiful he is, they snicker and laugh and breathing feels a little easier again for him then. Maybe it will be alright, after all, he thinks, as he steadies himself on the tightrope, his grip adjusting.

•

“Fuck yeah! You’re buying me Meat Buns tomorrow, Hanamaki Takahiro.”

The ending screen blinks while the credits roll and Matsukawa turns between his legs until he can grin up at Takahiro, mischief twinkling in his eyes and rough fabric rubbing against his shins.

“Rematch!” Takahiro demands and pouts, nudging Matsukawa lightly with his foot. “But this time I get to be player one, I’m pretty sure you rigged the game, _Matsukawa Issei._”

He snatches the controller out of Matsukawa’s hands and replaces it with his own. Their fingers brush and the familiar tingle follows instantly, spreading from the tips of his fingers through his whole body and settling in his chest, melting into his heart, and Takahiro wonders how he could have went as long as he did without recognising it for what it is.

“If it makes you feel better about losing,” Matsukawa teases, giving him a sly smirk, before turning back to the TV and starting up a new game.

They play four more rounds and, except the one where Matsukawa got distracted by his mum knocking on the door, Takahiro loses every single time. The calendar on the wall next to Matsukawa’s bed keeps blinding him, cutting right through the haze, only to leave it heavier and thicker than before and Takahiro swallows, trying not to gasp for breath when he feels the fog closing in.

How much time have they got left? How many hours will he get to spend in this room before it all fades to nothing? How much longer will he get to look at the dents in the wall from the time they stupidly decided to practice receiving inside? The faded and torn posters above his bed and the closet they painted dark green because black just seemed too dull and bleak for someone like Matsukawa?

He remembers all the times they sat like this, playing their favourite games until way into the night, talking about meaningless things that mean the world just for the sake of hearing each other’s voices. Takahiro always hated endings but this one seems particularly cruel because he never thought about it ending one day, and the sudden, looming abyss beneath his feet makes him stumble and sway and with every passing day it gets harder to enjoy the ones they still have. It’s unfair, really, he thinks, because why is time linked to happiness and why do they shrink together?

Matsukawa sets his controller aside and leans back against the frame of his bed, his head resting in Takahiro’s lap. He slides his eyes shut and yawns, black curls brushing against pale hands and it takes everything in him to keep from running his fingers through them, tracing soft lines on tanned skin.

“Seems like we have a date tomorrow then. You, me and seven Meat Buns."

“Three! We didn’t bet on those last four games!”

“Too late, you should have said that before you challenged me to a rematch.”

“I didn’t–“

“If you can’t pay your debts you really should stop gambling so much, Hiro.”

Takahiro huffs and crosses his arms, ignoring Matsukawa’s teasing gaze, before giving in and chuckling quietly, ruffling black curls and tracing tanned skin. “If you don’t go for the most expensive ones so I can get some, too, I might just survive.”

Laughter fills Matsukawa’s cramped room and the tiny space around them and Takahiro feels his back pressing against his knees, the pressure comfortable and familiar, and when he closes his eyes, he smiles and breathes in, because this is easy, this is _them_, and he doesn’t want to spend their shrinking time together with thoughts about what he should or shouldn’t do.

“Although you do eat like an animal that’s been starved for weeks,” Takahiro adds and makes a face at the thought of the amount of food Matsukawa manages to eat in a single sitting.

“Don’t be jealous, Makki, I’m sure your tiny stomach will grow, too, one day.”

Takahiro hits him with a pillow and Matsukawa splutters. He whips around to tackle him, strong legs pinning him down while his fingers jab at the spots on his sides where he knows him to be most ticklish.

“Mattsun!” Takahiro shrieks warningly before his words melt into hysterical laughter and he can do nothing but struggle against Matsukawa’s grip on his hips and the teasing itch on his skin.

When Matsukawa finally decides to take some pity on him, he flops down next to Takahiro on the bed, their arms brushing against each other as they both struggle to catch their breath, black curls tousled and pale cheeks flushed as they look up at the ceiling.

“Asshole,” Takahiro mutters and exhales loudly, his sides sore, his stomach aching from laughter and a smile in his voice.

“Pillow Assaulter.”

They fall into a comfortable silence until Takahiro yawns, suddenly feeling the strain and stress of the last exams in every limb of his body and, eventually, he lets his eyes flutter shut. The woody scent of Matsukawa’s perfume, mixed with something Takahiro would always instantly recognise as his best friend, hits him when Matsukawa turns to face him, shuffling closer until he can drape an arm around his shoulders.

He smiles, ignoring cracks and ropes and fog and words too sharp and heavy to bear, because they’ve always been like this, all close and intimate, and it doesn’t mean anything because it shouldn’t and that’s fine because at least Takahiro’s got this and he will always have this. He won’t let graduation change anything.

“You staying for dinner?”

It’s not really a question, more so something to keep them from looking down beneath their feet, because Takahiro always stays for dinner and Matsukawa always bids him goodbye after, waving after him until he turns the corner on his bike, disappearing from view.

“‘Course.”

Yet Matsukawa still makes sure to ask every time and Takahiro wonders if he knows how much he loves saying yes.

A smile tugs at his lips, one of the rare ones, all bright and radiant instead of lazy and small, his cheeks squishing and eyes sparkling in the light of the last rays of sunshine filtering in through the window, and Takahiro can’t help but feel kind of special because Matsukawa only ever smiles at him like that.

It’s just another boring Tuesday, go to school, visit Matsukawa after for games and dinner, come home and do homework and go to sleep, but when Takahiro smiles back at Matsukawa that evening, he feels affection coursing through his veins, setting his body on fire, and he thinks about how he fell for the actual human embodiment of the sun.

He likes to think of himself as the moon then, one cannot live without the other and other romantic shit like this, but he quickly pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind because he doesn’t really have the right to think of them like that and deep down he knows it’s wrong to do so as his vision starts fraying at the edges and the fog creeps back in.

•

It’s lunch time again and they sit in their usual spot under the oak tree behind the gym and the library and they eat their usual packed bento, Matsukawa’s packed with lovingly prepared snacks for the four of them. The only difference is time, because now it’s two weeks later and they graduate in a week and Takahiro feels like vomiting every morning.

“Seriously, man, you’ve got to thank your mum from us for all these snacks she keeps making,” Iwaizumi says as Matsukawa bends forward to hand them all their favourite foods, a relaxed smile sitting on lips.

“Yeah, thanks Mattsun’s mum!” Oikawa confirms and picks up his Tamagoyaki, moaning in a way that really has no place on school grounds as soon as the food enters his mouth.

Takahiro grimaces and feigns disgust as he leans onto Matsukawa for moral support who chuckles quietly, sitting back down and placing a Cream Puff into Takahiro’s box.

“Mhm, she’ll probably force the neighbours to eat all this extra food.”

The mood around them changes abruptly, like someone changed the channel on mistake, and Takahiro tenses at the words, because the ones Matsukawa didn’t say still linger in the air between them all. _When we’re not here to eat it anymore._

The rope under their feet shakes, a thread rips, and Takahiro feels scared to move, to breathe, because with every breath, more time passes. He never really understood what adults meant when they talk about being swept along by time but right now, he asks himself how he could have ever wished for the weekend on a Monday when he will never get those seconds back.

A wind blows through the trees, a few early autumn leaves tumbling to the ground, and Takahiro takes a moment to steady himself before he leans forward and snatches a piece of Sushi from Matsukawa’s bento, quickly stuffing it in his mouth with a grin on his lips.

He moans, to fill the void beneath their feet, and snickers as he points at Oikawa with his chopsticks. “‘m you,” he says and makes sure to chew with his mouth open. Oikawa takes the bait and yells about manners and rudeness and the world seems right again, the offending words tumbling down and down until they can’t cut anymore.

Matsukawa doesn’t let him get away, though, complaining about food theft under his breath while he bends and bites into a piece of sushi right on Takahiro’s chopsticks. His breath catches in his chest when his lips almost touch Matsukawa’s and Oikawa throws him a sharp look, brown eyes way too perceptive to belong to someone who doesn’t know, when Matsukawa sits back down, obliviously chewing.

Takahiro quickly averts his eyes and looks back down at his lap, fighting the blush creeping up on his neck and the shame pooling in his stomach, and he knows that Oikawa knows and he feels another part cracking, creating more tiny shards that follow the words and tumble down into darkness.

“I really don’t wanna go to my uncle’s stupid wedding this weekend, though,” Oikawa breaks the silence after a while and Takahiro could kiss him for changing the topic, “I’ve got much better things to do.”

“You should enjoy it, Trashykawa, maybe it’s the closest thing to a wedding you’ll have,” Iwaizumi deadpans and Takahiro feels that, even for him, that comment seems unnecessarily cruel.

It’s only when he packs up his bento and gets up from the ground, dusting the grass off his trousers that he dares to look at Oikawa, only to notice the miserable look on his face and the blank expression of shame in his eyes, and he knows what he feels like because, as the saying goes, it takes one to know one and if he isn’t that one, love might just as well be dead.

“Wait, Makki, I’ll come with you,” Matsukawa says and gets up, too, quickly stuffing his bento box in his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“Yah, let’s leave those two lovebirds alone.”

The words cut his tongue, all jagged edges and sharp corners, and he doesn’t know where they came from or why he said them, but when he catches Oikawa looking like he’d been slapped across the face, it breaks right between the four of them, cracking above Oikawa and distorting his features until he can no longer see the pain behind his eyes.

As they walk away, he wonders when all their words turned into knives and he never felt more afraid of endings as he does now, when everything he ever wanted is slowly slipping from his grasp, sticking in the past like glue while he is being pulled forward against his will.

•

It’s his eighteenth birthday and, like every year, they all come over to celebrate. Usually, Takahiro’s birthday signals the start of summer break, of weeks spent doing nothing but lounging around, playing volleyball and taking walks in the night, but this year it feels more like a funeral than a birthday, because there won’t be a summer break this year and there won’t ever be again, not like they used to be anyway.

“Makki-chan!” Oikawa beams as soon as he opens the door, “Happy birthday!”

Oikawa throws himself at Takahiro and hugs him just a little bit too hard, lingering just a little bit too long, and when he pulls back, he sniffles and Takahiro feels like crying, too, because he could have done without a reminder.

He puts on a smile instead and thanks Oikawa, patting him on the back, reassuring him as well as himself, and when his gaze travels to Matsukawa standing next to him, he feels a twinge in his chest, because Matsukawa looks different.

Not _different_ different, like he’s suddenly grown a beard or something, Takahiro has seen him just yesterday, after all, but more like far away, little things that feel like foreboding and scream of responsibility and maturity that he’s not quite ready for yet, like the new haircut trying to tame his unruly curls or the freshly-ironed clothes he’s wearing.

He opens his mouth and goes to say something but Matsukawa beats him to it, a grin spreading on his lips and softening his features in a way that makes Takahiro’s stomach flutter and sets the blood in his veins ablaze.

“Wow, Makki, you’re so old, would you prefer me to call you Hiro-san now?”

“Hanamaki-san, if you please! Always with the youngsters and their complete disregard for social etiquette,” Takahiro scolds and bends over, holding his back while he shuffles away from the door to invite them in.

They all laugh and Takahiro smiles with his back turned towards them, immensely relieved that it still all feels so easy.

“Happy birthday, Makki,” Iwaizumi says and puts down two bags on the counter, clinking suspiciously as they hit the marble stone.

“I brought beer.”

“Fuck, yeah, finally I can start binge-drinking myself into oblivion,” Takahiro yells and punches the air enthusiastically, earning him a concerned glance from Oikawa.

“Makki-chan, I hope you’re not being serious, you know that you should drink responsibly.”

“As if my dear Makki here would even so much as dream of doing anything so utterly horrifying as drink past his limits,” Matsukawa declares and puts an arm around his shoulders, nodding along with every word like a proud parent.

Oikawa looks back and forth between the two of them, a look of offence in his eyes, until Takahiro snorts with laughter and Iwaizumi cracks open the first cans of beer, handing them one each.

“To Makki-chan!” Oikawa proposes and raises his drink, “And to the four of us and the best years of high school I could ever have wished for.”

Iwaizumi turns to scold Oikawa for bringing it up in a moment like this, but Takahiro can see the tears glistening in his eyes while standing across from him, so he’s sure Iwaizumi does, too, and maybe that’s the reason why he sighs instead and takes a big gulp of beer. Maybe he doesn’t want to risk breaching a topic they all dance around and ruin the mood. Or maybe there’s another reason all together and Takahiro is thinking too much again, about ropes and cracks and the fragility of everything in between.

He lifts his can and clinks it with Matsukawa’s before taking a sip, and, of course, despite what Matsukawa said earlier, he drank before, but when the beer hits the back of his throat this time, it tastes exceptionally bitter and stale and when Oikawa screws up his nose in disgust, he wonders if he tastes it, too, the sharpness lingering underneath.

•

Oikawa passes out first, and while they all try to ascribe it to him being an awful lightweight, Takahiro saw him chug can after can and sip from Iwaizumi’s one whenever he thought no-one was looking. He knows Oikawa is no stranger to self-destructive behaviours, practicing into the late hours until his knee gives out and he collapses from lack of sleep, but this is different and he worries about him because as much as they all suffer from the rough rope beneath their feet digging into their skin, he knows that Oikawa suffers from more than that.

And maybe he should talk to him about it, about the fact that they’re both stupidly and hopelessly in love with their best friends, but he’s scared, afraid that talking about it will make it more real, that it’ll be the final punch to their friendship, and he’s not ready for cracks spreading and shards flying and he doesn’t think he ever will be.

Iwaizumi grumbles something about always having to take care of Oikawa but lifts him up anyway, with a surprising amount of gentleness, and puts him to bed.

Matsukawa leans closer to him and whispers in his ear, sloppily impersonating Oikawa as his body sways and he hiccups, “Iwa-chan, are you my mum?”

Takahiro laughs along but it feels hollow and tinny in his chest and he quickly takes another sip, trying to run from the fog seeping in from the edges and the horrible sense of impending disaster in his stomach.

They join Oikawa soon after, the night grew quite late anyway and none one them wanted to risk waking Oikawa up in this state, having to deal with his undoubtable hangover in the morning more than enough for them all.

Takahiro pulls the blanket up to his chin and stares at the ceiling and the stupid wall clock his mother insisted on buying, because it looks so much like the ones his father had liked, keeps ticking obnoxiously loud in the background, making him aware of every second that passes by.

He wanted to join them on the floor but Matsukawa and Iwaizumi were quick to shush him, telling him that the birthday boy should sleep comfortably in his own bed rather than a shoddy sleeping bag. “Like a princess,” Matsukawa had teased him and eventually Takahiro just gave up and settled into bed while his friends made themselves comfortable on the floor.

“Makki?”

Matsukawa’s hushed voice breaks him out of his thoughts and he shifts, trying to look at him but finding that he can’t because the room is just too dark and his eyes just burn a little bit to much.

“Yeah?”

“You awake?”

“No, this is my subconscious speaking.”

Takahiro can almost feel Matsukawa roll his eyes but he doesn’t comment on it, and instead, shifts around in his sleeping bag, whispering, “You okay?”

He stills and swallows quietly, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to arrange the words in his head while his mind is still fuzzy from the alcohol and his heart not quite ready for that conversation. “Yeah…’m fine. Why do you ask?”

Apparently it sounds as unconvincing as it feels because not a second later, Matsukawa is standing at his bedside, lifting his blanket and leaning down until Takahiro can almost make out the shape of his head.

“Can I?”

Takahiro nods before realising that Matsukawa can’t see him, so he hums and moves to the side. When he slips in next to him Takahiro relaxes almost immediately, and he leans into the touch when Matsukawa pulls him close and wraps his arms around him. He buries his face in his chest and inhales the familiar scent, tainted by the faint smell of beer and smoke that reminds him too much of fog.

“I know, Makki…” Matsukawa mumbles and starts rubbing circles on his back, and for a fleeting, horrifying second Takahiro fears that Matsukawa figured it all out, that he knows about his dirty secret and the awful way he feels about him but he keeps talking and Takahiro’s heartbeat slows down again.

“Distance isn’t everything, you know. We’ll make it work, I know we will. And it’s not like we’ll all just suddenly stop being friends in three days.”

“I know…” Takahiro mumbles against his chest and bites the inside of his cheek, blinking fast, because the alcohol is sharpening the shards in his throat and it hurts when he speaks, “It’ll be fine, we’ll be together forever, all four of us. You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

“I’ll miss you, Hiro.”

The words sound terrifyingly choked and raw and his breath reeks of beer and Takahiro wonders if Matsukawa’s crying because when he buries his face in his short strands of hair, something wet drips down his cheeks.

“I’m not dying, Issei,” he whispers back but the words cut his throat open and the name feels bitter on his tongue because Takahiro associates so much more with using it than Matsukawa ever will hearing it.

When they eventually drift off to sleep, bodies tangled up in each other and faces pressed close together, it feels like they’re dancing on the tightrope and Takahiro’s playing with fire because one wrong move, one mindless word on his part, might destroy everything they have between them, making them waver and trip and tumble.

•

The following day, Takahiro decides to indulge himself.

His mouth still tastes like beer and his head still throbs with the hangover of last night, and when he stares into the mirror that evening, pale skin and dark circles, he thinks about all those desperate people out there looking for a rebound.

He takes a deep, shaky breath and opens the mirror cabinet above the sink, getting rid of his reflection and the urge to crack the mirror right where his eyes are. A few seconds pass in silence, the wall clock keeping quiet for once as its batteries lie on the floor, before Takahiro hesitantly reaches for the lightest shade of makeup his mother owns.

When he unscrews the lid, his fingers tremble and his heart pounds against his ribcage and he doesn’t know why he's so _goddamn_ nervous, but when he sways and turns around on shaky feet, there’s no-one behind him and he’s left alone on the tightrope.

Takahiro licks his lips, suddenly way too aware of their dryness and the painful cuts in them, before he shuts the cabinet again and steps closer to the mirror, carefully applying the first layer of makeup.

His tired, dull eyes start to sparkle with barely concealed awe as soon as his dark circles lighten and his freckles disappear, and he keeps going until he looks like a porcelain doll, unblemished and unbroken.

Feminine features were something that accompanied him all his life, a nose that’s just a little bit too delicate, eyes just a tiny bit too feline and lips just a touch too thin. The fragility associated with them never really bothered Takahiro all that much, that is until he started cracking and dancing on ropes, but he can’t help the giddy excitement bubbling in his stomach at the sight in the mirror.

Before he can stop to think about it, his hands reach for what he recognises as eyeliner and mascara, his fingers tingling as he twirls them around.

With careful motions and a tongue stuck out between his lips, Takahiro applies a thin, jet-black line right above his fair lashes. It takes him a while, though, and he has to re-apply it a few times before it looks like he wants it to, a dainty line, slightly curved at the edges to compliment the shape of his eyes.

After adding a thin coat of mascara, Takahiro bends over the sink and closer to the mirror, marvelling at the way the blackness contrasts with the blue of his eyes and the paleness of his skin.

He feels beautiful, almost ethereal, in the cold light of the bathroom, a sparkle in his eyes and a smile on his lips, and when he steps away from the the mirror, admiring his work from afar, the unease lifts from his shoulders and he can forget about the ache in his chest, friendships that are too fragile and feelings that are too wrong to think about.

•

“You’re beautiful.”

The words are whispered against his mouth in the dim light of the bar, hot breath ghosting over his lips, and Takahiro feels a weird mix of ecstasy and sorrow as he lunges forward to steal another kiss, their chests flush against each other as his tongue licks across the bottom lip of the man in front of him. The intoxicating smell of alcohol and smoke fills his nose and the heavy bass beats in sync with his heart.

They break apart, both panting for breath, and Takahiro lingers, licking his lips, because he doesn’t want to open his eyes, not yet. As long he doesn’t see, he can still pretend.

“How old are you?”

“Old enough,” is what Takahiro mumbles before he leans in for the third time, desperation coursing through his veins as black curls and tan skin occupy his field of view.

“Just–hold on a minute,” the other man says and gently pushes him back, smirking when a quiet whine escapes Takahiro’s lips, “What’s your name? I’d like to know at least that much about the person I’m about to fuck.”

The smirk turns into lazy grin and Takahiro feels an almost painful want pool in his stomach because his eyes are hooded and his dimples are starting to show and he thinks that, _fuck, I might have a type._

“Hanamaki,” he says slowly, “Hanamaki Takahiro.”

“Nice to meet you, Hana,” he says and instead of a handshake, he leans in close and brushes his fingers over the arch of his cheekbone and traces the shape of his lips. “I’m Takahashi.”

The bar around him spins from the alcohol in his blood and Takahiro’s cheeks burn like fire and he doesn’t reply, instead crashing his lips onto Takahashi’s, his eyes sliding shut again as experienced hands start roaming his body.

With every swipe of his tongue and sensations of calloused fingers on hot skin, Takahiro feels the cracks spreading, widening, and broken fragments make it harder and harder to swallow. His movements get more desperate, hands sloppily trailing over well defined muscles and slipping under fabric, and he feels like crying when his mind still won’t shut up about whispered promises and fluttering hearts.

“This your first time?”

“No,” he replies but Takahashi gazes at him with watchful eyes and a knowing smirk on his lips.

“Fine by me. Let’s go?”

Takahiro stills, breath catching in his chest, and licks his lips again. The taste of smoke, that’s not his own, lingers on his tongue and he looks up at Takahashi, letting his eyes trail over tousled, black curls, plump lips and strong arms, and he’s very much aware of the fact that Takahashi is the definition of gorgeousness.

The light changes around them, reflecting off piercings and white teeth, and Takahiro thinks about afternoons in sweatpants and video games and early morning volleyball practices, and he knows he can’t do this.

“I’m–“ he starts, his voice hoarse and tiny and his lips sticky with saliva and beer, “I’m sorry, I–I can’t…I have to go, I’m sorry.”

“Figured as much,” Takahashi breathes against his face and Takahiro shivers, “You don’t seem like the casual type.”

He sits back down and rips a corner off the special menu card, scribbling something on it.

“Still, call me if you change your mind, Hana.”

“Thanks,” Takahiro mumbles as he slips off the bar stool, throwing one last, longing look at Takahashi before he leaves the bar and steps out into the cool night air. He grips the piece of paper in his hand as tightly as if it were his lifeline, rough against his skin, and swallows the shards back down.

•

Graduation day comes, sooner rather than later, and when Takahiro steps out into the warm morning sun, he feels inexplicably cold, his legs leaden and mouth dry.

He sets off into the direction of Matsukawa’s house, the way so familiar he could walk it with his eyes closed, and the fact that he’ll probably never walk it again after today weighs heavy on his stomach and he feels like keeling over and vomiting in the bushes.

“Makki!”

Matsukawa’s voice cuts through the air and the leaves tumble to the ground around him as he raises a hand, waving at him from underneath the pine tree they always meet at.

“Morning,” Takahiro says and smiles when Matsukawa pulls him into a hug. He buries his face in the crook between his neck and his shoulder, taking a deep breath and lingering for as long as he can before he pulls away, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from saying things he shouldn’t.

“Today’s the day, huh?”

“Today’s the day.”

They lapse back into silence, sunlight filtering through the leaves and leaving shadows on Matsukawa’s face and Takahiro lets himself stare for a bit, unintentionally comparing him to Takahashi.

“I wonder how often Oikawa already cried today,” Matsukawa breaks the silence with a grin and reaches for his hand, “I wouldn’t want to be Iwa right now.” He chuckles and turns to look at Takahiro, all sparkles and dimples and scrunched up noses, and Takahiro thinks it’s really unfair how a smile can hold that much power over him.

“I’d choose you over Oikawa every day.”

“Shut up, you big old sap, you’re only saying that because you want to see me cry.”

“Hmm, to be fair, you can be quite annoying when you haven’t had your morning coffee yet.”

They talk and laugh and touch and when they reach the front gates of school, Takahiro feels like no time has passed at all and the rope beneath his feet feels steadier than it did for months, and he thinks about how it might all turn out fine, after all.

“You go ahead, Mattsun, I just have to get my spare bag, I left it in the gym.”

Matsukawa throws him a concerned look when he mentions the gym, knitting his brows in a way that makes Takahiro want to smooth them out, and asks, “You gonna be okay?”

“Of course, I’ll be back quicker than you can say Cream Puff.”

He smiles, and it’s apparently more convincing than the last time because Matsukawa nods and lets go of his hand. “I’ll go find Oikawa and Iwa, meet you in the main hall.”

Takahiro watches after him as he walks away, the piece of paper with Takahashi’s number on it burning holes into his pocket as he clenches his hand around it.

When he pushes the gym door open, tracing furrows and faded blue paint, he’s surprised to hear hushed voices and quiet laughter.

“Should we tell them?”

The voice makes the blood in Takahiro’s veins freeze and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and it really shouldn’t because he’s heard it countless times in this gym before, but it does and the gigantic crack appearing right in front of him feeds into the feeling of dread.

“I don’t know, maybe not today, Tooru.”

Whether his body is not as quick at catching up or he’s just prone to masochistic tendencies, Takahiro doesn’t know, but instead of turning on his heels and leaving as quiet as he came, he walks further into the locker room, whispered words echoing in his mind.

_What’s so fucking special about today_, he wants to scream,_ tell me right now._

When he finds them, it doesn’t come as a surprise. Their fingers are intertwined and legs tangled as Iwaizumi leans in, brushing his lips against Oikawa’s before mumbling, “Let’s save it for another day.”

“Okay,” Oikawa whispers back and his eyes flutter shut, brown curls dishevelled and cheeks tinted red. “I love you, Iwa-chan.”

“Love you, too.”

Takahiro is frozen, standing rooted to the spot and holding his breath, as he watches his two best friends kiss, and he feels like a creep for intruding on such a personal moment of intimacy, but when he tries to swallow, his spit gets stuck on sharp edges and his eyes start burning.

“Now, let's go start the next chapter of our lives,” Iwaizumi says and that’s when Takahiro finally regains control of his body and swivels around around as fast he can without making a sound. He half-walks, half-runs out of the gym, words as sharp as knives cutting his insides open and a disgustingly acidy taste in his mouth because he wants to be delighted but he feels horrible instead.

Of course he’s happy for Oikawa, immensely proud of him for taking that leap into the Unknown, braving the slippery rope, and he’s glad, he really is, that Oikawa’s pining doesn’t seem to have been one-sided, but it’s difficult to keep convincing himself of those things when it feels so much like betrayal and tastes so much like the end.

•

It’s well into the night and he’s sobbing into the sink, like a heartbroken teenage girl, and he feels like there should be blood because the wounds on his insides feel like they’re being ripped open, but there isn’t and he’s left dry heaving with tears streaming down his face.

Inhaling shakily, Takahiro clutches the edges of the sink like he intends on breaking it and stares at his reflection in the mirror, his usually ghostly pale, smooth skin blotchy and puffy.

He always knew they would eventually end up like this, broken pieces and cutting edges, the aftermath of too much pressure from within, yet that doesn’t stop it from hurting like shit when the shards dig into his body and he struggles to breathe.

After a while, Takahiro stumbles back to his bed, memories of today flashing before his eyes, of forced smiles, poorly hidden tears and graduation speeches with wavering voices, and when he curls in on himself and buries his face in his pillow, his phone tumbles down, hitting the floor with a low _thud_.

When it wouldn’t stop ringing, he eventually turned it off and shoved it under his pillow because what good could words do now when all they did those last month was cut and pierce and hurt.

A sudden knock on his door startles Takahiro and makes him jump about a metre in the air, because his mother isn’t supposed to be home yet and he doesn’t expect anyone else.

He turns over on his back at the same time the door to his room swings open and a head of curly hair and tan skin peeks in.

“Makki?”

A surprised gasp escapes him and Takahiro quickly wipes the tears from his face, sitting up straighter in his bed before clearing his throat and saying, “Mattsun, what a surprise!” He hates the way his voice cracks at the end.

"You didn’t answer your phone,” Matsukawa says and sits down on the bed next to him. After giving him a once-over, he adds, “You look terrible, man.”

He gives him a small, sad smile and Takahiro hates himself when he sees the caution behind his dark eyes and the space between them on the bed.

“It be like that sometimes,” he croaks and cracks a grin in a pitiful imitation of their usual banter.

Matsukawa chuckles anyway and leans closer, whispering, “You should have told me, though, you know.”

Words hurt, he knows that by now, but those ones ache particularly bad because there’s _so much _he wants to tell him and he’s positive Matsukawa would understand about ropes and cracks and foggy vision but he won’t about nostalgia for something you never had and love so wrong it hurts, and that’s why he can’t.

“Hm, maybe I just wanted to force you to come over one last time.”

“I’ll always be here for you, Hiro, you know. I’m your best friend and today won’t change anything about that fact.”

His voice is way too serious to match the lighthearted one Takahiro made sure to use and, without being able to do anything about it, tears start pricking his eyes and he has to grip his blanket tighter because this all feels so wrong. They have always been easy and effortless, like puzzle pieces, never strained and out of sync like this.

Matsukawa starts stroking his hair soothingly and Takahiro has to think about how he will never pass a ball to him again, never walk home after a long day of studying, shoulders bumping into each other and he won’t ever see him standing under that one pine tree with Cream Puffs in his hands after tomorrow.

“It’s fine, Issei, honestly, just go home and get some rest, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I can’t leave you like this, Makki, you know that! As a best friend it’s my duty to make sure you’re okay.”

“You’re leaving me tomorrow anyway, so why don’t you go ahead and start getting used to it already!”

As soon as the words leave his lips, he regrets them, biting down on his bottom lip so hard he draws blood, and he realises once again that his own words can cut, too.

Silence falls between them, stretching longer and wider and bigger, until Matsukawa eventually gets up from the bed and heads towards the door, looking like he’d just taken a blow to the chest.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Makki,” he says and lets the door click shut behind him without looking back once.

Takahiro’s left staring at the closed door, paint crumbling at the edges, as his breathing speeds up and his lips tremble. He doesn’t know what just happened, why it happened, and he doesn’t know how to fix this. They never argue, not like this at least, all quiet and serious, and when hot tears start trickling down his cheeks, Takahiro feels too heavy for the rope and too light for the waves crashing over his head.

Maybe he won’t even have their friendship after tomorrow.

•

They tell them eventually, right when Matsukawa is about to board his train bound for Fukuoka, glistening eyes in Oikawa’s case and poorly hidden flushed cheeks for Iwaizumi.

Matsukawa nearly starts crying, gesticulating and gushing, and Takahiro feigns surprise, smiling to ignore the vile ball of jealousy and betrayal in his stomach as he congratulates his best friends on their relationship.

“Jeez, you two, why do you have to tell us stuff like this right before I have to spend seven hours in a packed train?” Matsukawa complains, sniffling, and Takahiro bumps his shoulder into his side lightly, brushing over their conversation of yesterday night.

“Didn’t take you for the sentimental type, Mattsun.”

Matsukawa laughs and gives him one of the lopsided smiles that Takahiro loves so much. “Must be something in the air.”

“Can’t you feel it, too, Makki-chan?”

Oikawa throws him a look that seems teasing and playful but Takahiro notices the underlying prompt in them, screaming at him to stop being a pussy and get a move on, because Matsukawa is about to board that fucking train and then he won’t be able to see him until winter.

Takahiro knows that, but the words are still too sharp too make it past his chest and the feelings are still too heavy to bear and when it comes down to it, he’s never really been that great at taking risks.

So he ignores Oikawa and screws up his nose instead, waving his hand as he leans in towards Matsukawa and whispers just loud enough for the others to hear, “It’s the smell of sex and newly enamoured couples.”

Matsukawa immediately plays along and nods knowingly, pursing his lips. “Now that you mention it, it is very biting.”

“Stop it, guys! Iwa-chan! Say something! And just for the record we didn’t even have s–”

“Just shut up, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi cuts him off, clearly embarrassed by the direction the conversation is heading.

To Iwaizumi’s luck, Matsukawa’s train announcement interrupts their banter and Takahiro’s mouth snaps shut, the mood effectively dampened. They stand in an awkward kind of circle, the air around them heavy and tense all of a sudden as silence stretches between them.

“Try not to do any dumb stuff till winter break, okay?” Matsukawa says, meaning all of them but looking at Takahiro only, “I want to be there for it.”

A reluctant grin tugs at Takahiro’s lips and Oikawa smiles, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes that Takahiro pointedly ignores, and they take turns hugging Matsukawa goodbye. Iwaizumi goes first, lips pressed into a thin line as he pulls him into a strong embrace, followed by Oikawa who takes a lot longer, squeezing Matsukawa tightly before he pulls away, sniffling.

Then it’s Takahiro’s turn and Matsukawa cocks his head and grins at him. They’re only centimetres apart but when Matsukawa extends his arms towards him, it feels like there are lightyears between them.

“Call me maybe?”

“You didn’t just meet me, though,” Takahiro replies, trying for cheerful banter but getting more of a croaked whisper, his smile faltering as his eyes start to feel suspiciously wet.

Before he can further embarrass himself, however, Matsukawa crosses the distance between them and pulls him into a firm hug. He rests his chin on the top of his head and Takahiro squeezes his eyes shut and wraps his arms around Matsukawa’s middle, hoping for the best.

He can almost imagine the words leaving his lips, wondering whether they would cut, too, like he expects them to or if they would feel more like sticky honey dripping from his mouth.

Takahiro won’t ever find out, though, because in the end, he pats Matsukawa on the back as they break apart and says nothing, forcing a smirk and a stupid joke. He’s delighted anyway when Matsukawa laughs at it.

When the train arrives and Matsukawa gets on, Takahiro never felt as much emotions at once as right now. When it pulls out of the station, he never felt more empty and void and wonders if Matsukawa took those parts with him on that train.

He turns around and finds intertwined hands and concerned glances and massive chunks start breaking off as it all crumbles around him.

Tonight seems like a good time to change his mind, Takahiro thinks, as he says his goodbyes to Oikawa and Iwaizumi and fumbles for the phone in his pocket to call Takahashi.

•

Winter break comes and classes are difficult and their schedules are busy and they don’t text as much as they used to in the beginning, so Takahiro is more than thrilled to finally see all his best friends again.

Besides a, frankly, quite ridiculous amount of studying, Takahiro spent those last three months slowly coming to terms with who he is and who he wants to be, and he smiles and breathes in deeply when he steps into the café with newfound confidence and a stronger heart.

Oikawa compliments today’s choice of blush and even Iwaizumi agrees that it compliments the colour of his eyeshadow and Takahiro’s chest swells with genuine happiness at having such accepting friends.

10 minutes and 23 seconds too late, which is so very typical of him that Takahiro has to roll his eyes in amusement, Matsukawa enters the café, his hair quite a bit longer and stomach a little bit flatter than the last time he’d seen him.

The most striking change, however, is the guy hanging off his right arm.

“Hi guys,” Matsukawa says and scratches the back of his head nervously, smiling at them hesitantly, but Takahiro can’t tear his eyes from the boy next to him who’s gripping onto his hand and restlessly shuffling his feet. “This is my boyfriend Shoji. Shoji those are my best friends, Oikawa, Iwa and Makki.”

Shoji waves shyly and gives them a smile and a bow and Takahiro’s eyes travel back to Matsukawa, finding his already fixed on him. As best friends do, Takahiro naturally notices the unease in Matsukawa’s eyes and in the way he’s holding himself, all tense and stiff, so he pushes his own hurt aside and swallows thickly, ignoring the crack spreading right across curly hair and brown eyes.

“Mattsun! Always knew you had a thing for shorter guys.” He grins.

Matsukawa laughs, shoulders slackening and tension leaving his body at the familiar teasing, and the turns towards Shoji, giving him a nod and a smile. “Welcome to the Mad House, Sho.”

“Listen, I hope you know what you’re getting into,” Iwaizumi says, “This one alone is enough to drive me insane.” He points to Oikawa next to him who pushes out his bottom lip and punches Iwaizumi in the shoulder lightly.

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately, I do.”

“Ugh, gross.” Takahiro fake-gags and sticks his tongue out before dragging his chair back and getting up from the table. “I’m gonna go throw my lunch back up.”

As he turns around, he catches Oikawa giving him a look so full of sympathy and regret that he actually feels like vomiting by the time he reaches the bathroom.

_This is fine_, he tells himself while making faces at the mirror, resting his weight on the sink, he gave up on Matsukawa the moment that damned train left the station that day; hell, he might even have given up on him way before, when he went to that shady bar, trying to get fucked by someone that wasn't him.

He’s got absolutely no right at all to be jealous over the fact that Matsukawa now belongs to someone else, he never had, and yet–

“I’m sorry, I should have told you I’m bringing him, it’s just–“

Takahiro whips around so fast, he feels he might have torn a muscle in his neck.

“What?” he whispers dumbly, caught off guard by Matsukawa standing behind him, looking at him with remorseful eyes and slightly parted lips. His surprise quickly shifts into irritation and he eventually settles on anger because it’s easier than thinking about whatever the fuck any of this means.

“Why would you have to tell me?” he replies firmly and turns the tap on, shoving his hands under the scalding hot water. The words come out a lot sharper than he intended them to but it doesn’t matter anymore and Takahiro could care less right now.

“I don’t–I just…I thought–look. Hiro, I–” Takahiro bites down on his bottom lip and focuses on the water running down his hands, scrubbing them clean as he avoids looking at his reflection in the mirror, too afraid of what he’ll see if he does.

“I’m sorry.”

Takahiro feels like that’s not what Matsukawa meant to say but he decides not to question it, because it’s easier, and he doesn’t ask why he’s apologising to him when there’s nothing to apologise for, and instead just turns off the tap and shifts to face him.

“Let’s just get back, they’re probably wondering what we’re doing in here for so long.”

His voice echoes off the tiled walls, trying way too hard to be joking, but Matsukawa seems to be as glad for the change of topic as he is and immediately jumps aboard, retorting with a grin, “I’m more worried about Iwa right now if I’m being honest.”

They return to their table together, the atmosphere there clearly more relaxed than when they left as Shoji laughs along with Oikawa about something that clearly has made Iwaizumi the butt of the joke, judging from the look on his face.

Takahiro can’t help but notice Shoji’s vibrant smile, how his light blonde hair frames his face and the big, black glassed perched on his nose, accentuating his cheekbones, and he has to admit that Matsukawa definitely got taste.

Shoji turns out to be an actually very funny and laid-back guy, quickly getting comfortable with all of them until he’s cracking jokes with Oikawa and arguing with Iwaizumi as if he’s always been there, right in the middle of their shattering world.

They chat and laugh for hours and it’s been dark outside for a while already when Shoji’s eyes start drooping and he yawns, letting his head fall onto Matsukawa’s shoulder. Takahiro thinks it looks an awful lot like a scene from a Shoujo manga.

Oikawa eyes Iwaizumi from the side, clearly figuring out the best way to go about this, when Iwaizumi shoots him a glare that practically screams, _Don’t even think about it_.

“I think we’ll get going, guys,” Matsukawa says as he looks down at Shoji, black curls hiding his face from view, “He couldn’t sleep at all last night because he was so nervous meeting all of you.” The teasing tone in his voice is gentle and he leans down to give Shoji a quick peck on the cheek, brushing a few strands of hair out of his face with an affectionate smile on his lips.

Shoji grumbles quietly but there’s a blush on his cheeks and a smile tugging at his lips and however hard Takahiro wishes he could hate Shoji for stealing the love of his life, he can’t bring himself to because it’s so blatantly obvious how much they love each other that it almost feels like they’re intruding just by being there.

Takahiro doesn’t return home that day, and even though every night he spends with Takahashi makes him feel like he’s drifting further and further away from his friends, he craves the relief it gives him too much to even even think about stopping.

•

When they get the invite to Matsukawa’s and Shoji’s wedding, it takes them all by surprise. Who would have thought Matsukawa would get married before Oikawa?

It hits Takahiro the most, though, like a blow to the gut, but he braves it with a smile and a sigh when he finally slips from the rope he’s been balancing on all those years, falling into the abyss beneath and hoping for the best, like he always does.

Iwaizumi comes up to him, dark green invite still in his hand, and puts an arm around his shoulders, squeezing hard.

Oikawa purses his lips, laying down the envelope and stepping closer, telling him that it’ll be alright, they’ll get through this together.

Takahiro just stands there, golden ink on black paper swimming before his eyes, and it hurts so much he can’t even cry.

•

In the end, Takahiro decides not to go.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi tried to convince him countless times, telling him how selfish he’s being by not going, that Matsukawa would do the same for him, how sad it will be without him there, but Takahiro knows all of that already.

He knows he’s being the worst best friend ever by not being part of one of the most important days in Matsukawa’s life, but he just can’t bring himself to watch him get married to another man while wearing a smile and giving his blessings.

Shoji is amazing and he loves him and Matsukawa will always be the one who stole his heart the first time round, but he apparently doesn’t love them enough to put himself through their wedding and he hates himself all the more for it.

When Oikawa and Iwaizumi board the train bound for Fukuoka, he waves and smiles and it feels awfully like a déjà vu when the doors close and the train pulls out of the station, leaving him alone on the platform with a gaping hole in the middle of his chest.

Takahiro always hated endings but when the train disappears into the distance, he can’t keep pretending any longer and it all finally breaks around him, shattering into a thousand tiny pieces until he’s left staring at cutting sharp remnants of their friendship, reminders of what was and what could have been, and maybe high school friends really weren’t supposed to last forever and this is his first real taste of adulthood.

He breathes in the cold winter air and closes his eyes, thinking about what kind of suit Matsukawa is going to wear when he ties the knot, and maybe they never were the sun and the moon and he’s just a boy too scared to admit his feelings in a world that has no place for childish love.

**Author's Note:**

> let's just pretend makki's birthday is in summer for the sake of my sanity  
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